


please stay (with me)

by fwop



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow To Update, Torture, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwop/pseuds/fwop
Summary: The noises stop at his door, and a feeling of dread settles over him like a wave. If they’re holding him here because of his role with Voltron…The door opens with a hiss, and Shiro’s eyes widen as he rolls to his feet, crossing the room as far as he can before the chains pull at his limbs, keeping him in place. His heart throbs painfully in his chest, true fear blanketing him with ill-timing.“Lance?!”
Relationships: Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 140





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags & warnings! Posting this tentatively...
> 
> Title from 'Lover, Please Stay' by Nothing But Thieves, which inspired this story.

When he opens his eyes, Shiro thinks he's having another nightmare. 

He has them often enough, gasping for breath in the middle of the night cycle with the echoes of Sendak’s laughter to chase away the dredges of sleep. He’s gotten used to them, for the most part, can feel the difference between wakefulness and dreaming, but sometimes he can’t get out of it.

But… the longer his eyes are open, the more alert he gets, until a white-hot band of panic surges through him, shocking his limbs to numbness. He’s terrified, knows these walls like the back of his hand, knows these sounds and these colors. 

For a moment, he thinks he'll go crazy if he has to endure this again. They’ll take more limbs or force him to kill, and he just… he can’t. Not this time. He can’t turn into their slave again. He isn’t  _ meant _ to hurt people like that. At one time, fighting for his life felt necessary, and the other prisoners, the other gladiators were an unfortunate circumstance. They were foreign to him. Alien. He thought they were  _ all _ bad. 

He’s spent time out in the vastness of space, though, getting to know all sorts of people, aliens--  _ saving _ them. They  _ are _ worth saving. He wasn’t sure at the time, about the other gladiators, but now he thinks they were just trying to live before being captured. Just like him.

The guilt of that eats at him. He doesn’t think that’ll ever fade. 

He’s blessedly alone in the room, chains connected to both ankles and wrists. If anyone else was in the room he’s not sure what he’d do. The others are safe-- that’s what matters, ultimately. 

Keith can lead Voltron, he’s  _ sure  _ of it. His team is fully capable. He  _ trusts _ them. 

Shiro’s facing the door, the purple Galra insignia glowing in the shadows. That’s a familiar sight, one that turns his stomach, makes beads of sweat appear on his brow. He stands and tests the chains, noting his arm has been made useless, like they’ve disabled the technology that kept it going. He can’t get too far-- about six feet, give or take-- a few feet shy of the middle of the room, where a stream of light filters in through what Shiro assumes is thick, impenetrable metal, programmed to show the stars drifting by outside.    
  
Physically, he’s relatively unharmed, though he has dried blood on his forehead where they, no doubt, knocked him out cold. His body aches, but that’s normal. He’s always aching in some way-- hasn’t stopped since he started school at the Garrison, and even before that, when his muscles just couldn’t take the strain of his illness. 

He wonders where the others are, if they’re really safe. The last thing he remembers is their fight against Zarkon and then nothing. 

Keith will be a wreck-- he’s never been good at loss, if his last reaction to Shiro’s disappearance is anything to go by. He got kicked from the Garrison in his desperation to find answers. Shiro knows he’s grown since then, matured because he had to, just like all of them. He also knows Keith is stubborn as Hell, and won’t stop looking for him until he’s found.

That sends an anxious thrill from his chest to the pit of his stomach-- that he knows someone will actually be looking for him this time. Last time, he was convinced he’d spend the rest of his life as a prisoner on an alien ship. That had almost been worse than the torture. Matt had been a small comfort, and a good friend. 

He limps back to the wall, slides down and sits. 

All he can do is wait. 

\-------------

He isn’t sure of the passage of time before he hears a commotion. Everything in space seems timeless. The rules don’t apply. His senses tell him it’s been a day, almost two, according to his internal sleep schedule. He’s fallen asleep once, and was beginning to feel tired again.  _ Was _ \-- before he’d heard the footsteps and the distinct sound of someone being dragged along the ground.

He’s been the source of that sound himself before, his legs not working well enough to walk and the Galra never caring how he got back to his place in the cells, as long as he got back. Being pulled by his hair or his arm was a normal circumstance of his life, back then, his boots scuffing against the floor.

If he’s hearing that sound, he wonders if he’s being held in another type of cell. Before, it had been with other gladiators, other species of aliens. They’d all shared space. Here, he is by himself. He’s sure it’s because of his role with Voltron. He’s honestly surprised Zarkon himself hasn’t made an appearance yet, if… if he’s still alive. 

Shiro can’t remember what happened. That’s becoming too familiar to him. 

The noises stop at  _ his _ door, and a feeling of dread settles over him like a wave. If they’re holding him here because of his role with Voltron…

The door opens with a hiss, and Shiro’s eyes widen as he rolls to his feet, crossing the room as far as he can before the chains pull at his limbs, keeping him in place. His heart throbs painfully in his chest, true fear blanketing him with ill-timing.

“Lance?!” 

The Galran drones that brought Lance in disregard Shiro completely, shoving Lance onto the ground and chaining him to the wall opposite of Shiro, binding ankles and wrists. Lance doesn’t seem coherent and he looks wrecked.

The drones turn, closing the door behind them, the lock clicking into place. 

Shiro gets onto his knees, trying to inch as close as possible to Lance, which isn’t close at all. He’s all the way across the room, slumped against the wall and breathing shallowly. 

“Lance?” he asks, placing his palms on the ground as he leans forward. 

Lance cracks his eyes open, and Shiro breathes a sigh of relief, smiling at him uncertainly. Lance groans, sucking in a harsh breath as he tries to push himself up. There’s blood dripping from his nose and on his teeth and down his chin, darkening the exposed underarmour of the paladin suit where it’s dripped down. His arms tremble from the effort, and Shiro’s eyebrows furrow at his pain. 

He never,  _ ever _ wanted any of them to have to go through this. He thought they were all safe. Does that mean they’re  _ all _ here? He shakes his head, shifting his focus to the present. 

“Are you seriously injured?” Shiro asks urgently, and Lance leans back, his eyes closed as he shakes his head. He’s being unnaturally quiet and it’s worrisome. “Lance… what happened?”

Lance’s eyes open again, and he glances at Shiro, then away. Shiro notices the shine of tears gathered there. He clenches his jaw. Lance is probably terrified. 

“It’s okay, Lance-- it’s  _ okay _ .” 

Lance nods frantically, the tears spilling down his cheeks without permission. He keeps nodding, his fingers curling against the floor, and then his body starts shaking, his breath hitching. He pulls in air, but it sounds like it’s scraping against his throat as it comes out, and then he’s heaving, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He’s having a panic attack. Shiro’s had them himself, had seen them more times than he can count in the cells. The only thing is, he can’t reach Lance from here. 

“Lance,” he pitches the volume of his voice higher trying to get his attention. Lance’s widened eyes swivel over to him, fear evident on his face. 

“You need to breathe with me, okay? Watch the hand on my chest rise and fall,” Shiro lifts his hand and then places it over his own chest, exaggerating his breathing so Lance can see from where he is. 

Lance pulls in breath after breath, watching Shiro’s hand with tears in his eyes. 

“You can do this, Lance,” Shiro encourages, keeping his voice soft, but commanding. Lance nods harshly, putting his own hand on his chest. It takes a while for him, but eventually, his breathing comes back to him. 

“You good?” he asks, watching with concern. Lance nods, smiling weakly. 

“S-sorry,” he rasps, his voice weak. 

“You don’t have to apologize.”

Lance nods again, swallowing and not looking Shiro in the eyes. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but… Do you know what happened?”

“We got knocked out from the battle... not sure how. Got captured before the Castle-Ship could get to us. The others are safe.” His voice cracks and sputters out a few times. He’s been screaming.

Still, the news is a relief… for the most part. The fact that Lance is here, that they’ve already started their torture upon him… It doesn’t bode well. If they took Shiro’s arm, what would they take from Lance?

“Are you okay?” Lance asks into the silence, and Shiro blinks at him, startled. 

“They haven’t done anything to me,” Shiro says. 

“Probably because they know they won’t get anything from you,” Lance replies, winking at him. The smile doesn’t stick, but Shiro appreciates the effort. “I didn’t say anything, either.”

Lance is looking at him somewhat desperately now, as if he’s willing Shiro to know he’s telling the truth. Like perhaps Shiro wouldn’t believe him otherwise.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Shiro says to assuage his fears. Lance sags in relief, and Shiro frowns, upset that he even felt the need to prove himself like that. “You were incredibly brave.”

Lance scoffs, waving his hand vaguely. 

“Of course I was,” he postures, and Shiro smiles at him. If there’s one thing he can count on it, it’s Lance’s brand of confidence. Even when he knows Lance is faking it, there’s still a part of Shiro that believes it. Lance has shown how resilient he is before. He trusts Lance, just like he trusts all the other members of Voltron.

“I know it sucks we have to be here,” Lance begins, “but man is it nice to have someone with me.” 

“I know the feeling,” Shiro says, moving to his own wall and sitting against it. “Matt was a comfort to me when I was first imprisoned by the Galra. Didn’t feel so alone.”

Lance closes his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. 

“Listen, Lance...” Shiro hesitates, but Lance blinks his blue eyes open at him, watching. “They might take you again. You-- you have to be strong.”

He nods, closing his eyes again. 

Shiro wants to say more, to maybe prepare him for just how  _ sick _ the Galra can be, but he looks so damn tired already that Shiro just can’t. 

It doesn’t take long for Lance to sleep, and Shiro watches over him with a heavy heart. 


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alright, Lance, it’s just to the left,” Shiro directs, so proud of him in that moment. 
> 
> “My left or yours?” Lance asks, grinning as much as he can with a swollen face. He winces immediately. Shiro huffs out a laugh, amazed that Lance is still cracking jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff happening in my current life and so that's why I added the tag "slow to update" when I first posted this!

Shiro is jarred awake by Lance’s yelling, and he jolts to his feet, running towards him. He forgets about his chains again, gritting his teeth when they pull at his limbs, causing him to crash to the ground. 

“Lance!” He yells from his knees, and Lance thrashes in the hold of the Galra dragging him away. 

“Shiro!” Lance shrieks, grabbing at the edge of door and clawing at it, trying desperately to get out of their hold. It doesn’t work, Lance losing grip against the slick surface. He screams all the way down the hall, until Shiro can’t hear him anymore. 

“God _damn it_!” Shiro curses as his door shuts, slamming a fist against the floor. 

This is the worst part-- he knew that as soon as he figured out Lance was here with him. Watching them drag Lance away and being unable to do anything to stop the pain he knows Lance is about to feel, it’s worse than anything they could do to him. He has to sit here, like some sort of coward, helpless to the situation. He’s _tried_ calling for Black, but the lion hasn’t come for him, so maybe the connection he made with her during their fight with Zarkon _isn’t_ enough. 

And _why_ aren’t they asking _him_ questions? Why aren’t they dragging him off for torture, or back into the Gladiator ring? 

What if they do that to Lance? What if they _amputate_ Lance, too? He’s been over this, but the possibility is so real, he can’t stop thinking about it. Lance doesn’t deserve that. 

Shiro takes a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. He must remain level-headed, for Lance, if not himself. 

He doesn’t know the layout of this ship, even if they did concoct an escape plan. There’s no telling how far they would get before they’d be caught. There’s probably not a single Blade member present on this ship, and that’s how he escaped last time. 

Crossing his legs, he focuses, trying to find that connection with Black again. It’s all he can do for now. It’s better than inaction and enough to distract from the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

\------

Shiro isn’t sure how long it’s been since Lance was taken, but he opens his eyes from meditation when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. Two drones drop Lance on the floor without care, latching him back to the wall with his chains. 

Lance doesn’t move, and Shiro’s heart jolts in fear that he’s well and truly dead. 

“Lance?” he asks and Lance groans, barely moving his head towards the sound. 

Shiro releases his breath and crawls as close as he possibly can. He freezes when the door swishes open again and one of the drones drops food and a drink onto the floor. 

“Hey! I can’t reach that!” Shiro complains, hoping the drone will loosen his chains a bit, just so he can reach Lance. 

The drone ignores him, leaving the way it came. Shiro sighs at its departure. 

“Lance,” Shiro tries again, and Lance turns his head. 

Shiro swallows at the bruises forming there, at how swollen his eyes are. 

“There’s food. You need to eat,” Shiro says, keeping his voice soothing and soft. He wants to be as comforting to Lance as possible, but he also needs him to eat for strength. 

“I don’t think I can,” Lance slurs, tears slipping from his eyes. 

“I know it’s hard, Lance, but you have to try,” Shiro replies, trying so hard to be strong for the both of them. It’s hard seeing his teammate like this, especially when Shiro feels responsible for him. It’s hard not to be angry. “Get up, Paladin.”

Lance moans, pressing his forehead into the cold floor. He sits still for a moment before pushing himself up, arms weak and shaking. He almost falls over, but remains upright, shivering violently. 

“Alright, Lance, it’s just to the left,” Shiro directs, so proud of him in that moment. 

“My left or yours?” Lance asks, grinning as much as he can with a swollen face. He winces immediately. Shiro huffs out a laugh, amazed that Lance is still cracking jokes.

“Yours,” Shiro answers and watches Lance cringe with every move he makes towards the food. Still, he crawls over on hands and knees and reaches for it. When it’s in his hands, he pauses, looking over at Shiro. 

“There’s only… there’s not much, Shiro,” Lance says, holding the packaged food and drink up for Shiro to see. 

“It’s fine, Lance,” Shiro replies, “you should eat it. You need it more than I do.”

“No offense, but I grew up in a family that literally centered half of their celebrations on the sharing of food. You need it just as much as I do. I’ll eat some-- but I’m not sure I can stomach much,” Lance explains, opening the packaged food. He makes a face, but takes a bite anyway, chewing with a grimace. 

“Boy, what’d I give for some of Hunk’s food goo right now-- and that’s saying something,” Lance comments. He wraps the rest of the food up slowly, taking a long pull of the liquid before closing the container it came in. 

“Tell me about it,” Shiro says, remembering some of his time here before. “Even at the Garrison, I had to eat a strict diet because of the qualifications for the Kerberos mission. By the time I was out here in space, eating _that_ , I was dying for the worst kind of pizza.”

“Don’t remind me of pizza,” Lance grumbles, crawling towards Shiro with the rest of the food. It’s slow going. They meet in the middle, almost able to touch, but not quite. Lance pushes the food closer and Shiro takes it, though he wishes Lance would’ve eaten more. 

Still, his stomach has been gnawing on itself, and he’s not even sure the last time he ate. Sometime before the fight with Zarkon…?

He eats and drinks his portion, saving some drink for later. He knows they might need it, because both food and drink are scarce for prisoners. 

“Lance! Hey!” Shiro says, after he sees that Lance has closed his eyes. Lance jolts upright, blinking at him. “Did they hit you in the head?”

Lance pauses, looking vacant as he’s forced to remember what he just went through. Shiro hates that he has to ask, but it’s essential he knows. 

“Yeah,” Lance finally answers, blinking sluggishly. 

“You gotta stay awake a little bit. If you have a concussion--”

“Geez-- yeah, yeah, I know. My mom always griped at me when I hit my head playing around with my family. I’ll stay awake.” Lance waves his hand, though his usual enthusiasm is gone. Shiro settles close, eyeing him thoughtfully.

“You always talk _of_ them, but I don't know a thing _about_ them,” Shiro says, and Lance furrows his brows. 

“I guess it's just hard to think about them,” Lance admits, flushing slightly. 

“You miss them,” Shiro says, even though it's framed as a question. 

“Yeah,” Lance agrees, “I do.”

“You must’ve been really close.”

“Of course,” Lance says, laughing a little. “Almost inseparable. When I told them about my plans to join the Galaxy Garrison, they were really happy for me.” Lance always seems so soft and vulnerable when he mentions his family, a look of pure adoration taking over his features. “My mom was terrified, I could tell. Her youngest going off to join a military force? Psh, yeah. She never mentioned it, though. She’s really strong like that.”

“Yeah? Seems like she raised you right,” Shiro comments, absolutely meaning it. Lance has been integral to their efforts with Voltron, even when he’s goofing off. Maybe the part about him goofing off has kept them all grounded, in a way. Lance cuts through tension like a well-sharpened knife. Shiro knows how easy it’s been to get wrapped up in darkness, and somehow Lance has been able to rise above it. 

“She’s the best! She won’t admit it, but she spoiled the heck out of us. Well, she disciplined us like any other mom would, which was scary, _believe_ me, but-- it was all with love.” 

Shiro listens intently as Lance describes the rest of his large family, wondering what it would’ve been like to be so surrounded by love all the time. He’s sure it could get annoying at times, not having any privacy, but he can tell that their bonds mean much more to Lance than that. 

Lance talks until his voice starts to peter out, mentioning good times and describing moments that take Shiro out of the situation and into the dunes of a sandy beach, enjoying the sun and getting into mischief. 

“Veronica was _so_ mad,” Lance recalls, blinking slowly, “she was sunburned for _weeks_. She had no idea she was putting on regular lotion.” 

“Was your mother mad?” Shiro asks, invested. 

“ _Oh_ yeah,” Lance grins, eyes closing. “We were totally grounded.” 

“You can sleep now,” Shiro says softly, sometime later, even though Lance is already halfway there.

He watches Lance until he closes his eyes completely and even longer after, until his own eyes are heavy, and he can't fight sleep any longer.

He has to find a way to protect Lance. He _needs_ to see his family again. This won’t be the end. Shiro promises that much.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long my dog is dying of cancer and it's been a priority

He wakes slowly this time, opening his eyes to find Lance staring right back at him. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but it doesn’t feel like much. It’s easy to wake here-- they aren’t the only ones being held against their will, after all. The screaming will eventually become background noise but until then… 

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Lance asks, quiet and reserved. Shiro sucks in a cleansing breath through his nose, sitting up slowly. 

“No. Were you… awake for a long time?” Shiro asks, wondering how long Lance has been waiting for some semblance of company. Being alone with your thoughts in this place… isn’t a good idea. Shiro hadn’t had the luxury of making friends as the Champion, after Matt was gone. (Because he’d been _killing_ them one by one, and they could tell he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t--)

“I don’t… really know,” Lance says. “I can’t tell how much time is passing. It felt like a long time, but-- I’ve never really been good at being patient.”

Shiro chuckles, remembering all the times the Paladins have had to wait and how much Lance couldn’t stand still during those times. He bounces his leg when he’s nervous, passes the time doing physical exercise when he’s bored. It had been a good distraction. Pidge had someone to yell at when Lance wouldn’t quit pacing and Hunk had someone to soothe. 

“Do you feel rested, at least?” he asks, and Lance puts his palms over his eyes, rubbing at them. 

“Not really. Every noise--”

“Woke you up? At some point, you’ll be too exhausted for that to happen. It’s both a blessing _and_ a curse. Disorienting, anyway,” Shiro says, wryly. He grabs for the water bottle, taking a swig before rolling it towards Lance. 

Lance takes a pull, capping it and looking at it sadly. 

“You… never said,” he starts, rolling the bottle back. 

“What’s that?”

“If you had family at home. You don’t talk about anything from back then.”

Shiro sighs, nodding. He tries not to think about Earth, when he can help it. If you keep your mind on the present, there’s no room for fears and worries. Thinking about the _past_ , well… It brings up more than fear or worry. There’s no use in reminiscing when you’re a Paladin of Voltron. 

Still… 

“My family was small. Probably the exact opposite of yours, really,” Shiro replies, looking out of the small window into the vastness of space. “My father left fairly early in my life, and my mother raised me until she died a year after I joined the Garrison.” 

“I-- I can’t imagine… if I’d lost my mom after joining the Garrison. That must’ve been hard on you,” Lance comments, somberly. He’s holding his knees to his chest, looking small and like he’s a million miles away. 

“I loved my mother, and she always did what she could for me. She wasn’t always emotionally available, but I…,” Shiro pauses, feeling things he hasn’t felt in a long time. He never processed her death properly and bringing it up now is surfacing a lot of emotions. “I always felt like it was my fault she withered away. If I had stayed…”

“Shiro…” Lance says, but nothing more. 

“Anyway, it’s in the past now--”

“It’s _not_ your fault.”

“Lance--” Shiro tries, but Lance interrupts him again.

“It’s _not._ People die and sometimes there’s just nothing we can do about it, no matter what we try. Your mother wouldn’t want you to feel that way.”

Shiro swallows heavily, stricken at the thought. She wouldn’t have, that’s true enough. She was a quiet woman, but Shiro knows she loved him in her own ways.

“You’re right,” Shiro admits. Though it doesn’t fix how he feels, it gives him something to chew on. He shakes his head, diverting his thoughts to the Garrison. “After my mother passed, I met Keith. He was lost in a lot of ways, gave _me_ something to take care of.” He’s never really talked about this to anyone but… but Adam. It’s strange that it’s Lance, of all people, that he’s confessing to. He doesn’t doubt that Lance will keep this to himself, but Shiro never pictured this as a conversation that would’ve ever happened.

Lance has always been a surprising and capable person in his own rights-- Shiro should’ve known by now not to underestimate anyone. He feels guilty to have fallen into such a judgmental sort of thinking.

Before he can open his mouth again, the door grinds open and Shiro jerks to his feet. 

  
Lance turns wide eyes to him as the drones make their way over, his chest heaving. 

“It’ll be okay, Lance. Think of something else--” Shiro says, flinching when they grab Lance up, robotic hands tight around his arms. 

“Take me!” Shiro yells as they drag him out, “Take me, damn it! He doesn’t know anything!”

The door shuts with finality. Lance’s distant screams begin too soon.

\-------

“Was Keith a good kid?” Lance asks into the silence. Shiro doesn’t know what time of day it is. He’s lost track. His sleep schedule is impossible to predict. 

“Keith was… a little difficult,” Shiro admits, sending a silent apology to Keith for divulging secrets Lance might be able to use later. Desperate times. 

“A little?” Lance snorts out a laugh, breaking out into hacking coughs when it irritates his sore throat. 

“He’d lost everyone,” Shiro says, hoping Lance can understand that, at least. 

He does, if his silence is anything to go by. 

“...I still don’t understand the mullet.”

Shiro laughs, smiling despite himself. He watches Lance from across the room, how his chest moves up and down, proof that he’s still breathing. 

“You’d have to ask him about that one,” he says, way too much humor in his voice to go unnoticed. Lance pounces on the opportunity. 

“So you think it’s weird, too! Point, Lance!” 

“How about this-- you don’t tell him I think his mullet is weird and I’ll tell you how to use the Altean pool.”   
  
“What!? You know how?”

\-------

It’s like a sick game. 

Every day, they come in and take Lance from the room and torture him. Sometimes he’s a bloody mess when he comes back, and sometimes he looks out of his mind when he’s dropped to the floor, but there are no new wounds. Shiro wonders what inventive new ideas the druids have come up with just to _hurt_ people and, at times, he doesn’t want to know. He never asks him and Lance never volunteers the information.

He doesn’t want to know how many debts he owes Lance for letting this go on, for not being the leader he was supposed to be. For not being the _friend_ he was supposed to be. 

There are times when Lance just can’t keep his eyes open and there are times when he looks over at Shiro and smiles anyway, despite the situation. He talks with a shaking, croaking voice about anything and everything, pulling Shiro from his despairing and renewing his sense of determination with his perseverance. 

The drones _still_ haven’t even glanced his way, though they continue to give them just enough food and water to sustain two people, albeit uncomfortably. Most days, Shiro gives his portions to Lance, because he needs it to heal on days when they don’t decide to play God and heal his wounds with Quintessence.   
  
It’s dangerous for Lance-- being so exposed to Quintessence like that. 

Shiro is sitting there, racking his brain for the hundredth time over how they can escape, when they open the door. Lance is upright and walking at least, but he’s shaking so badly that the moment the drones let go of his arms, he drops straight to the floor.

“Lance?” he asks, but Lance says nothing, only stares into room like he’s not even there. 

“Lance!” he tries again. Nothing.

He doesn’t get an answer until Lance comes out of whatever trance he’s been in ten minutes later. 

“Shiro?” he asks, and Shiro pulls his head up from his knees, smiling at Lance. 

“Hey. You with me?” 

“Debatable,” Lance jokes, running his hands up and down his arms. He sucks in a shaky breath, exhaling and closing his eyes. 

“What happened just now?” Shiro asks, because he needs to know. He couldn’t get through to Lance, no matter how loudly he yelled. 

“...I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Lance admits after a moment, meeting Shiro’s eyes and holding. 

Shiro feels his heart plummet, but tries to keep it from his face. 

“You’re a lot stronger than you realize, Lance. A lot of people would’ve broken already by now.”   
  
“I don’t want to be strong,” Lance whispers, tears dripping down his cheeks. “I’ve never wanted to escape something so much before, Shiro.” 

Shiro nods before Lance even finishes his sentence, understanding in his very _soul._

“We’re going to get out of here, Lance.”

  
  
“They did… something to me,” Lance murmurs, and Shiro’s heart drops into his stomach.

  
  
“They did what?” he asks, voice coming out sharp and harsh. He winces and tries again. “What did they do, Lance?” 

“Some… some sort of injection… I saw… Shiro--” he hiccups, covering his face with his hands, his wrists marred with old bruises and dried blood. 

“It’s--” Shiro begins, but he can’t fucking say that, can he? He can’t tell Lance it’s ok. That’s a lie. It’s _been_ a lie. “Lance, listen to me.”

  
  
Lance wipes at his face, sniffling as he looks up. 

“I _need_ you,” he says, startled at the truth of it. He needs Lance to survive. _Voltron_ needs Lance. He’d be devastated to lose him. How many missions have they been on together? How many bonding exercises have they gone through together. They have to share their _mind space_ , for God’s sake. No. This Universe wouldn’t be right without Lance. 

Lance startles at the admission anyway, some sort of strange heartbreak overwhelming his features. 

He moans and then truly starts crying, big, wailing tears. 

  
Shiro knows that Lance has made up his mind to survive, because he had cried the _very_ same way when he’d done the same.


End file.
